When the sea turns crimson
by Breeyar98
Summary: When Kai Hiwatari was a child his grandfather framed his parents for murder and killed them, Kai was locked up in a mental hospital. After swapping identity with Tyson Granger he returns 15 years later with a list of names and one purpose, revenge. AU, where the original characters are placed in completely different roles. Please give it a shot! :)
1. Prologue

**Authors note: Okay, a new story! This is heavily influenced by the tv-show, revenge, just so you know. The prologue in particular, but the later chapters will contain far more original content.**

**Reviews please?**

**Disclaimer: I do not own abc´s Revenge or Beyblade, unfortunately;)**

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**When the sea turns crimson**

**Prologue**

"_Before you embark on a journey of revenge, dig two graves"_

_- Confucius -_

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When I was a child, my understanding of revenge was as simple as the Sunday school proverbs it hid behind. Neat, little morality slogans like; do un to others, and two wrongs don´t make a right. But two wrongs can never make a right, because two wrongs can never equal each other. For the truly wronged, real satisfaction can only be found in one of two places, absolute forgiveness, or moral vindication.

Make no mistake; this is not a tale about forgiveness.

When all you care about has been stolen from you, sometimes all you have left is revenge. It might not be what you envisioned for yourself, it might be morally unspeakable, but I learned long ago that such thoughts are useless. When dealing with someone that has nothing to lose you should remember that doing what is right in the eyes of society will always come second. For someone like me, it is completely irrelevant. My goal has nothing to do with the opinions of others, with right and wrong. Such things are of little importance here. In the end all it comes down to is retribution.

"Go"

The word was spoken with a calm, self-assured confidence. I knelt one last time, forehead pressed against the ground. When I stood up I turned around, soundlessly leaving it all behind. I didn´t look back. There was no need to. With swift easy movements I jogged down the stone staircase, the wind ruffling my hair, caressing my features. A part of me would miss Shikoku for what it was; the mountains, the electric blue sea, the forests. I had spent several years here, and it had left an impression that was impossible to ignore. In this small paradise I had learned the hard way that separating your rational mind from your emotions are key to anyone who wish to walk the stony path of revenge. To succeed one must always keep ones eyes on the ultimate goal, remain indifferent to distractions, unfazed by collateral damage.

At the airport a cream coloured jet was waiting, engines running, and I found my seat without further delay. A rectangular wooden box was placed on a bolted table next to my seat, and I spared it an affectionate glance. Soon, very soon I silently promised, fixing my gaze on the flight attendant as she went through the security procedures. Even if it cost me I had to be patient, had to endure. I had waited more than 15 years for this, a few more days wouldn´t make a difference. Still, the impatience was there, the fire. A deep scowl settled on my features as I picked up a polished leather binder, quickly rifling through its contents, settling on a picture of an all too familiar face. Neatly cut, golden hair, warm blue eyes. She appeared to be the image of trustworthiness, the kind of face my 7 year old self had longed to see, to put faith in.

Dr. Judy Tate, the authority of child psychology in the United States, an internationally recognised author and professor. It is with no hint of regret whatsoever that I acknowledge the fact that she was the first one on my list. When deception cuts this deep someone have to pay, and for the guilty, one way or another the past will always catch up with them. My fingers tightened around the edges of the photo, knuckles whitening.

My memory of her was disturbingly clear. I remembered everything, even the grisly details. Her perfume, a mix of sickly sweet flowers and a bitter, sour aroma I couldn´t identify. Her toothpaste smile, the wolfish grin that revealed small, even teeth. Her seemingly sincere baby-blue eyes, that under my scrutiny contained nothing but greed. In betraying me she had achieved everything she had ever dreamt of. Her position, power, her life; she had been given the choice. An easy way to the top, sure, but there had been one condition. Needless to say she had taken the deal, otherwise I would not be sitting here, in this plane, prepared to ruin the lives of a carefully selected group of people.

When I was put under treatment at Dr. Tates clinic for the mentally disturbed I had been 7 years old. A correctional facility is no place for a child, let alone one that has just lost every constant in his life. Still, Dr. Tate did not seem to agree. Or perhaps she did, she just placed money, power and status before the fate of one helpless little boy. I had been frightened, confused, and above all grieving. The so called treatment had been a frustration. Even to this day I can recall all our sessions, word for word.

It had only been the two of us, and we had talked. Or rather, she had talked, while I had argued. Sadly enough I had soon realized that no matter my well made points the outcome would still be the same. It was not that she didn´t believe me. She didn´t want to believe me, and that was that. At the age of 7 I had been labelled a compulsive liar. I had also been diagnosed with schizophrenia. When you are 7 years old and utterly alone, the world is an unkind place.

My parents chance at justice was stolen from them. Their only option was to forgive, because in death, what else can you do? I on the other hand, am free to choose my own destiny as I see fit. They say revenge is a dish best served cold, but my personal experience is that it can be as warm as a scorching fire. My parents were betrayed by my only living relative, my grandfather. By all accounts I am as dead to him as they are. In not killing me he made his last mistake, and when this tale reaches its conclusion, he will be far worse off than dead.

Like I said, this is not a tale of forgiveness.

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**Okay, reviews?;)**


	2. Chapter 1

**Authors note: Yay, chapter 1, next chapter will be more action filled, this is more of an introduction to what has happened and what will happen. **

**REVIEWS?**

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**When the sea turns crimson**

**Chapter 1**

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_**-Shikoku Island, Japan, 2011-**_

The wooden stick clattered to the ground, out of reach, and my back connected with the stone surface, an uncomfortable crunch vibrating through my ribcage. I was on the ground, chest heaving, my clothes dark with sweat and ice blue eyes wild with fury. His foot was firmly placed over my collar bone, effectively preventing any form of escape, and he shook his head in exasperation, eyes narrowed with disappointment.

"So much potential, and yet you ruin everything by giving in to your rage", he said.

I bit back a sharp response, struggling to calm down, to empty my mind of confusing thought and emotions, like he had taught me. It didn´t work. Sometimes I wondered if this was all I was; if there would be something left should the rage one day disappear. Not that it would, but still, I always wondered. I scrambled to my feet the moment he removed his foot, already feeling the beginnings of a bruise from where his stick had found its mark. The sky was a comforting pale blue, an almost mocking contradiction to my darkening frustrations. With a low bow I picked up my stick once more, taking up my previous position; the weight on the back of my feet, both hands folded securely around one end of my weapon. This time I was a bit more successful, and we sparred for about ten- fifteen minutes before he got the better of me.

"Better", he praised, eyes flinty.

I bowed my chin in submission.

"Thank you sensei".

The physical challenge was something I valued. It demanded full concentration, full commitment on my part, and thus it served as a most welcome distraction. In a way I suppose you could describe it as uncomplicated. Just like everything else I engaged in, it was a means to an end, and so long as I did not dwell on its future purpose it served as an escape. That being said I had never lost sight of my goal. It was there, hovering just at the back of my mind at all times, reminding me why I was here, at this exact place, at this exact time. I bowed my head once more as Takeshi gestured for me to follow him inside.

It was early afternoon, and time for one of our daily discussions. Tea was already prepared, and we sat down opposite each other, cross-legged and still, as he observed me, making sure I did everything to his standards. The Japanese were thorough people. Everything had to be done according to tradition, even something as simple as having tea and sharing lunch. As always we ate first. Takeshi was, like most sensei´s I imagine, nothing fd not traditional. Lunch consisted of neatly cut slices of sashimi, with sesame seeds and soy mixed with wasabi paste. A separate tray of vegetables was off to the side. As per usual we ate in silence, and he did not speak before the table was cleared, and tea had been served in exquisite handmade porcelain bowls.

"You read the article", he calmly stated, dark slanted eyes intently regarding me.

His hair was black, like most Asians, and it was cut short in the back, matching his aristocrat like features. He was shorter than me, but powerfully built, with the movements of a fighter. He was someone that shouldn´t be underestimated. Oddly enough the combination reminded me more of a businessman than what he actually was.

"Yes".

"And you are angry", he stated, voice laced with disappointment.

I met his gaze, face void of all emotion. There was nothing I could say in my defence. Despite my craving we both knew I was no were near ready, even though this was something I struggled to admit. Whenever I was reminded about the past I forgot why I was here, what I needed to learn in order to succeed. It was difficult, more so than the physical training. We had worked on my emotional issues for a long time, but somehow the wound was still to fresh, even after all these years.

"You must remain indifferent. If you wish to succeed in this, you must act with a clear mind. Your rage won´t help you".

"Sensei", I bowed my chin in agreement, on the verge of feeling ashamed.

I couldn´t recall how many times I had heard those words, and something told me I would hear them again, many times. When I came to him the first time I had almost punched him. Then the rage had been a defence mechanism, something I had no control of at all. At the time he had been hesitant to take me on as an apprentice. I had been too angry, to emotionally lost. It had taken quite some convincing, but in the end the potential he had seen was too tempting. Of course, this was two years ago, and the improvement was more than evident. Then again I started this with every intension of seeing it through till the bitter end. Improvement was a necessity.

"I will not disappoint", I said, voice calm, determined.

He nodded, dark eyebrows furrowed in concentration.

"Then do not underestimate your foe".

"I won´t".

He tilted his head to the side, contemplating me. I knew that he would always have my back, but this did not mean that he would tolerate anything but my best. Our relationship was simple this way. I spoke my mind, he responded with his honest opinion, be it approval or scorn.

"Patience", he admonished, waving his arm in dismissal.

The conversation was over, and I stood gracefully, taking my leave with another deep bow. I was aching all over, something I had gotten used to. Pain was a part of life, be it emotional or physical pain. This however, does not mean that it should be tolerated. The physical pain was easy to deal with; it would always fade over time. Bruises disappeared, broken ribs healed. As for the emotional pain that was something else entirely. It was a much deeper, much more complicated wound. A wound I suspected would never heal completely, revenge fulfilled or not. My enemy was formidable, but he was not aware of my existence. The element of surprise was something I was prepared to exploit. And while they continued their lives among the rich and privileged, I would learn everything there was to know, about every single one of them.

With careful, restrained movements I picked up the magazine, opening it where I had left a bookmark in between the pages. Dr. Tate´s picture was there, glaring up at me from the glossy pages. Next to her a distinguished looking grey haired man was smiling at the camera. They were surrounded by a dozen or so other people; faces I now knew down to the smallest of details. They were guilty faces, and it would only be a matter of time before the past would kindly deliver what they deserved. What their motivations had been, their reasons, I could only guess. Most of them were power hungry and ambitious, which grandfather had undoubtedly played on in his grand scheme to cover up his mistake.

For the average person leading an ordinary life, fame holds a hypnotic attraction. Many would sooner perish than exist in anonymity. But for the unlucky few who've had notoriety forced upon them, infamy can be a sentence more damning than any prison term. As for the others I suppose it didn´t matter much. What mattered to me was the end result, the outcome of their actions. And this was something that could not be changed. My attention returned to the grey haired man. He was smiling, mahogany eyes gleaming with charm. His built resembled mine; tall and athletic, with an easy elegance to every movement. I scowled at the realization, the rage returning full force. Voltaire Hiwatari, or as I knew him, grandfather.

He was Russian, but had grown up in New York. My family originated from Russia, hence the surname, but they had not been physically connected to the country for generations. He had, like his father before him, and his father before him, inherited the family business, one of the worlds largest manufacturer of computer parts. When he took over he had renamed it INC, for whatever reason, and started investing extensively in other companies. Apart from being a shrewd businessman he was equally ruthless; the ultimate recipe for success I suppose. How he could kill his own son I don´t know. And, like I said, the reason does not matter to me.

Guilt is a powerful affliction. You can try to turn your back on it, but that's when it sneaks up behind you and eats you alive. Some people struggle to understand their own guilt, unwilling or unable to justify the part they play in it. Others run away from their guilt, shading their conscience until there's no conscience left at all. If there ever was one to begin with. But I run toward my guilt. I feed off of it, I need it. My parents died, accused of a crime they did not commit, never knowing if the world would ever know about their innocence. For me guilt is one of the few lanterns that still light my way.

My parents allegedly died in a car crash. It happened on the 23 of December, in the evening. It was snowing, and the police believed her to have been unfocused, perhaps because of the accusations that had been made official earlier that day. Either way it had been labeled an accident. My young self had been in bed, sound asleep and completely unaware of the drama that was about to unfold. Of course, with the natural intuition of a child I had known that something was wrong when my father´s name was mentioned several times during the news that day, but I couldn´t quite understand what he had done. They had woken me in the middle of the night, trying to explain to me what had happened.

He had been there, grandfather, and somehow I had known with undeniable certainty, that it was his fault. Now that I am older proof had been easy to find. The bullet holes in the windshield of the car, the ruined brakes that should have functioned perfectly well in what had been a brand new BMW. He had covered it all up, bribed and extorted his way through the system, making sure that no one, and I mean no one, would even mention his name in the wrong context. With a sigh I closed the magazine, standing to place it in the large wooden box that rested in a corner of the room. The interior was distinctly Japanese, with cream-colored paper walls and black lining, the floor covered in fresh tatami mats. Outside it was starting to darken, and I carefully stretched my stiff limbs, sliding the door shut as I exited.

"Are you afraid?"

The question surprised me, and I sat down opposite him again, instantly knowing that tonight we would not perfect my close combat skills. We would talk.

"No".

"Then why are you so angry?"

I paused, unsure.

"You cannot leave here before you have your emotions under control. Whatever improvement you make in other things is irrelevant so long as you continue embracing your rage, your fear".

He was right of course, but letting go of once anger is easier said than done, especially when your grudge runs as deep as mine.

"I will learn to control it", I said, calmly.

"I ask no more".

The silence stretched on, but it was a comfortable one, and I gazed out at the sea, at the moon reflecting in the polished surface. Tonight the sea was crimson, a reminder of what was to come perhaps. It is a natural phenomenon, caused by the pigmentation in a special type of algae. I found the symbolical interpretation to be oddly appropriate. It had been like this all day, and I had observed the horrified tourists only hours earlier, as they had gone down to the beach only to discover that the sea was glittering in a devilish red. I smiled. Somehow the memory struck me as vaguely amusing.

"When will I be ready?" I wondered, although I already knew what he would say.

"That is entirely up to you".

Of course it was, as with everything else. Sometimes I wondered if everything was somehow my fault, although I knew it was not. Self-pity and confidence issues caused by childhood trauma Dr. Tate would probably have said.

"It is vital that you chose to return at the opportune moment. Only this way will your presence cause the chaos that is essential to fulfil your goal".

I nodded.

"At the 100 anniversary of INC", I slowly said, suddenly becoming aware of the possibilities.

The idea caused a slight smirk to tug at the corner of my mouth. It was an expression of glee, of cool anticipation. How wonderful that could be, to humiliate him on his big day, in front of all his friends and associates. For someone who´s life revolves around others perception of you, image is everything, and in matters of revenge you always take away that which they cherish the most. My plans were far reaching and complicated, which made it possible to explore all possibilities. Of course, nothing ever goes according to plan, but rolling with it here and there was part of the thrill, the experience. So long as the larger ramifications stayed in place.

One year, 12 months. That I could do. I bowed low yet again, and he dismissed me with a curt nod. Cold anticipation washed through me, as I strolled down the familiar stone steps, headed for the beach. The sky was dark and clear, stars glimmering brightly. The moon looked oddly out of place, sporting a deep, cherry colour. Reflecting the sea perhaps. I sat down in the sand, just within reach of the vermillion like waves. They washed over my bare feet, and I stared, fascinated. It looked like I had stepped in a pool of blood. Again, how appropriate. Everything I had become, everything I was at this moment; it was all because of him, I reflected, dipping one hand in the purplish substance. It was strange, how a person I could barely remember held the power to shape my life to such an extent. Funny how that worked.

I suppose I could say I knew him, at least to the best of my ability. Everything he did I kept an eye on. His business, his personal life, his friends, his accomplices. I knew them all, both by name and appearance. With slow, almost melancholy movements I reached inside my jacked, fishing out a crumpled piece of paper. It contained twelve names, starting with Judy Tate, written in black with neat, graceful letters, ending with Voltaire Hiwatari, written with a harsh, uneven hand. My eyes skimmed through the list once more, before I folded it, putting it back in the inner pocket of my jacket.

Judy Tate. The all important doctor turned liar and co-conspirator to Voltaire Hiwatari. She lived a happy life, married to a Thomas Tate, a computer researcher. Together they had a son, Max Tate, who was a couple of year younger than me. They lived in a spacious apartment in New York, and owned a summer house in the Hamptons. Mr. Tate worked for INC, as a consultant, and the family enjoyed a close bond with the head of INC, Voltaire Hiwatari. They were bound to him by money and secrets, by fear. And that is something which should not be underestimated. Max was currently studying business at Harvard, although his grades were by no means up to par. Secretly he wanted to become a professional chef, but this was of course something he could never admit to Judy Tate. Among the wealthy and the powerful you hired personal chefs, of course your son could never become one.

That being said he was obviously their pride and joy. They bought him expensive cars, paid for his education, showered him with gifts and attention. I had seen family photos of them; were they smiled and laughed, happily unaware of what was to come. This was something that had been taken away from me, something I would never get back. My family was gone, and Dr. Tate had ensured that all chances of a normal life had been taken from me. All I had left was my inheritance, which I had made sure no one would ever be able to trace back to Vladimir and Rena Hiwatari. As with everything else money is merely a means to an end. It cannot replace that which I have lost. Still, as a tool it was very useful, especially when it came to blending in with the crowd I was so determined to take down. Destroying them from the inside, a much slyer and most satisfactory way of ensuring their doom. As far as my identity was concerned they would not know anything, that I had made sure of. Kai Hiwatari was hidden for the time being, he would not announce his presence before it was too late. In the meantime I would be someone else, someone more anonymous.

When dealing with matters of revenge it is important to remember that giving back what they did to you will never be enough. As I said; two wrongs can never equal each other. This is why killing Judy Tate will never be enough, why my plans run so much deeper than this simple act. Judy Tate will die one day, but not before she has witnessed her family being torn apart from the inside, not before she has seen her lifes´ work being ripped to pieces, not before she has lost everything she ever cared about, like I did.

This is why you don´t kill the guilty, you ruin them.


	3. Chapter 2

**Authors note: Yay, chapter two, and things are starting to get more interesting. This plot is rather complicated, so everything moves rather slowly I am afraid. But, be patient! ;)**

**REVIEWS PLEASE?**

**KirayHimawari: Fantastic to hear from you, and thank you so much for leaving a great review! Hahaha, my brain is a dark place, so beware! Anyways, great that you like the story! It is a bit different from my other work, and the plot is getting very complicated, so we´ll see what happens. I will definitely check out that book, revenge is such an interesting theme for a story. And if you are stalker I am not complaining:) Thanks again, you are just totally awesome! :D**

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**When the sea turns crimson**

**Chapter 2**

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**-June 2012, present time-**

The Hamptons, home of the rich and powerful, one of the most expensive zip-codes in the world. For many owning a property here is their lives mission. For someone like me such a thing holds a much more sinister purpose. Voltaire Hiwatari lives here almost year round. He owns one of the largest pieces of land in the area, facing the sea and slightly elevated compared to the neighbours. My parents old beach house is located further down the slope, a mere 50 meters from the foaming waves, and this is the place I have just bought.

Most of my memories from this place are pleasant ones. Moments with warm summer winds and light, always with the assuring knowledge that even the darkest storms would eventually pass. And for a while they did. To my eyes it was mostly unchanged. New paint had been applied, and the furniture was changed, but otherwise it looked the way it had always done. With a sense of hesitation I trailed my fingers along the wooden railing, gaze fixed on the sea. It looked beautiful, exquisite. The most acceptable thing I had ever lied my eyes on. In that regard I suppose buying the beach house was not such a bad idea. It had appealed to me, be it due to my previous connection or not.

My features hardened as I turned around, gaze cold and flinty. The Hiwatari manor was looming overhead, a surprisingly tasteful monstrosity built from dark grey stone and beige brick. Then again I suppose everything in the Hamptons is tasteful, or at least striving to be. I had bought the place furnished. Partly because I didn´t find it interesting to do it myself, but mostly because I didn´t like the idea of changing it. There are some things that are better left forgotten, and then others that you simply can´t leave behind, no matter how hard you try.

"Hi".

The voice caught me off guard, and I paused in my broodings, swiftly turning to regard the intruder with a cool stare. He was about my age, short, with large round glasses and messy, reddish-brown hair. I recognized him instantly, and a polite smile graced my features. He was not on my list.

"I´m Kenny", he introduced himself.

"Tyson, Tyson Granger", I said.

He looked momentarily surprised, but quickly schooled his features, smiling.

"A pleasure to meet you Tyson, seeing as we are neighbours".

"Hn", I responded offhandedly.

He was curious about something, and I briefly wondered exactly what before I dismissed it. Kenneth Denham, or Kenny as he liked to call himself, was a computer genius. At the age of 17 he had started his business, and he now made millions of dollars on a weekly basis. Judging by his appearance he looked all but dangerous, however intelligence should never be underestimated.

"Tyson Granger, huh?" He mumbled, almost to himself.

I smiled, all but amused. He could play around all he liked when I was not here. Now that I had returned I did not feel like being so lenient.

"Cut the crap, we have work to do", I snapped, my polite front gone in an instant.

"Relax, relax, I´m just joking".

He waved his arms in a gesture of apology, and I turned my back on him, stalking inside. Part of me was annoyed that he had turned up so early. I had looked forward to exploring the house and its surroundings on my own for a while. Now that he was here that would have to wait. We settled in the living room coach, and I watched as Kenny fired up his lap top, impatiently tapping my fingers against the edge of the table. Sometimes I just wanted to strangle him. Sure, he was my only friend, and he was my main source of information, but still. He could be unbelievably frustrating. The screen lit up as he started typing, and I watched with renewed interest as it split in four, sporting four different images. Three empty rooms, and then in the kitchen a blond woman was busy making coffee. Judy Tate.

"As you can see I have managed to keep the Tate´s under surveillance, the same is for the Hiwatari Manor. They have security cameras installed, so this was easy", he said, a hint of pride evident in his tone.

"The others?" I prompted.

He shook his head, face falling.

"Most of them require inside jobs I am afraid".

"Which I will deal with once I have gotten close enough", I murmured, catching his curious look.

"About that", he started, looking at me.

"How will you ….."

"That is none of your concern", I interrupted him.

"You will make sure that I have an invitation for the charity event tonight, and that is that".

He just looked at me, eyebrows rising in question.

"Well, I suppose I will know tonight then".

"Perhaps", I allowed.

My suit was already waiting, hanging over a chair in the kitchen. Everything was set for the evening, it merely depended on the last details, and my own performance of course, which after all was the main concern.

"How is Tyson doing?" I asked Kenny, eyes still glued to the computer screen.

Dr. Tate had moved to the living room, busy looking through a bunch of files, no doubt sealing some other unlucky individuals fate.

"Last time I checked he was still in Nevada, working on some cow farm", he dismissed.

I spared him a withering look.

"Make sure he stays there".

"Of course Mr. Hiwatari", he said, mockingly bowing his head.

"Unless you are certain that we are alone it is Tyson Granger", I corrected him, annoyed.

You never knew who could be listening in, and Kenny shrugged apologetically, looking genuinely sorry. Like I said, sometimes I just want to strangle him. Tyson Granger. How I despised that name! Everything about it, everything about him, spoke of lack of refinement, of insecurity. Then again all these qualities were harmless, anonymous traits.

"When did you last speak to him?"

Kenny shook his head, uninterested it seemed. Well, he better pull his shit together. Part of executing this successfully is not underestimating the lose threads, because if you do, they usually come back to haunt you.

"A couple of months ago I think".

"Check up on him again, and soon". I said shortly.

He left the computer with me, and I did not follow him out when he took his leave. Kenny is a good hearted individual. You my wonder what he is doing here, being part of my bloody scheme. Unfortunately for Voltaire Hiwatari his grandson is not his only enemy. When Kenny started his business Voltaire Hiwatari had shown interest almost instantly.

What exactly had happened I did not know, the only thing I did know; the only thing which was of any interest to me, was that he now owned 51 % of it. Kenny was effectively working for him, and he was angry about it. A hostile takeover he had called it when we first met, and the opportunity to reclaim what was rightfully his was something he could not refuse. He was useful, and his computer skills unmatched. However he was also intelligent enough not to go ranting to others about my plans, which was ultimately the most important thing. And of course, the determining point. He cared about me, and this made him reassuringly predictable.

With a sigh I stood up, leisurely stretching. The charity event this evening was important. Voltaire Hiwatari and family were attending, which of course made my presence a priority. Yes, with family. The previous year he had remarried a Lisa Tachibana. She was a slim, decent looking woman in her early forties, and she had a 22 year old daughter, Hilary Tachibana; My ticket into the Hiwatari household. She was a poor little thing, all wrapped up in her own ambitions, no friends, no life outside her academic career. In that regard I suppose we are not so different. At this point in time my existence revolves around one thing, revenge.

With practised ease I pulled on my suit jacket. It was a deep, charcoal grey, and I studied my reflection closely, looking for any sign of imperfection. There was none. I looked good. A light tan, sun bleached hair with darker highlights. My built was tall and athletic, muscled after a lifetime of martial arts training. The natural colour of my eyes was a quite unique shade of mahogany, a classic Hiwatari trait.

For obvious reason´s I was now wearing contacts, and ice blue eyes glared back at me from the mirror, holding the temperature of a glacier. I knew that I was beautiful, but as with everything else it was merely means to an end, a tool to aid my campaign. In the Hamptons there a three things which are essential to success; beauty, wealth, and having the right friends. It is a superficial place, were ones wallet has far more to say than integrity. Which is why one can always expect the people here to act solely for their own benefit. In that regard I was no exception.

The event in question was hosted by Lisa Tachibana, or as she liked to call herself these days; Mrs. Hiwatari. It was one of those grand things supporting breast cancer, the kind of event rich people host solely for their own guilty conscience. I was handed a pink rose at the entrance, which I gave Kenny once we were through. As with everything else in the Hamptons the event was perfectly executed. For the richest crowd in the world, nothing but perfection was good enough. It was hosted on an antique yacht, and pink flower arrangements were everywhere, ensuring that everyone knew who was getting their money. I strolled casually up the ramp and onto the boat, grabbing a glass of Champaign from a tray carried by a blushing waitress.

I recognized most of the people, although they had no idea who I was. Mr. Dickinson, the judge who had committed perjury to ensure Voltaire Hiwatari´s pretended innocence. Boris Balcov, corrupt law enforcement officer. He was the one who had opened fire on my parents car, and for that I had reserved a special place for him. And there he was, Mr. Hiwatari himself. Tall and elegantly dressed he worked the crowd along with his wife, smiling and patting people on their backs, laughing at their bad jokes.

Even from afar he exuded an unmistakable air of power and intimidation. He had presence in a way that is deeply unsettling. Even as a child I had feared him, and now that I once again was within striking distance, I suddenly felt unsure. Despite all my careful planning the idea of confronting him suddenly seemed irresistible. His back was still facing me, and I took a couple of steps forward, tension building.

"Tyson…", Kenny warned, placing a hand on my shoulder which I shook off immediately.

But he was right. I couldn't ruin everything, not now. Satisfaction would be mine, but not yet, and something told me that the longer I had to wait, the better it would be.

"Don´t", I warned, voice dangerously pleasant.

I stalked off, leaving him standing alone. My eyes had just caught the perfect distraction; Hilary Tachibana. To my surprise she was prettier in real life than on the pictures. Her face was heart shaped and attractive, with large almond shaped eyes, and full, rosy lips. She looked nervous, alone and out of place, like she didn´t quite know how to deal with the posh surroundings. Her dress was hugging her curves in all the right places, and I watched, fascinated as she clutched her purse with tense fingers, knuckles whitening. Why so tense? Are you afraid of something?

I scanned the crowd once more, trying to determine what she was looking for without success. Secrets, so many secrets. She was already part of this world, entangled in the spiders web, I just didn´t know how. Perhaps that could be changed. I approached her guardedly, smiling politely when she looked up, our eyes locking. She blushed, straightening slightly, her mouth forming a small o in surprise. I usually had that effect on women, especially the insecure ones. Hilary Tachibana looked like she needed some adventure in her life.

"Can I get you a drink miss?" I wondered, all polite assertiveness.

"I…yes please", she said timidly.

Her smile was hesitant, but in her eyes there was hope. I almost felt sorry for her, almost. Five minutes later we were seated at the front of the boat, sipping Champaign and talking. She was currently studying British literature in London, and had come home for the summer last week. Outside of school she liked to read and cook, her favourite colour was purple and this was her second time in the Hamptons. All boring facts which I already knew about, but if it could build something between us I was more than willing to listen.

"We moved in with Mr. Hiwatari a year ago, right after they married".

"You are close?"

"You and your mother?" I elaborated, resting both elbows at the table as I watched her.

She looked momentarily startled by the question.

"Yes, my father left when I was a child, I am very lucky to have Mr. Hiwatari".

I have never believed in luck.

"And they are very happy together, him and my mother", she quickly continued.

Not very convincing I pondered, regarding her with a friendly smile.

"Sounds like you are a very lucky girl", I said.

Of course the irony went unnoticed, and she smiled tentatively back, eyes twinkling with joy. It was almost depressing, how she clung onto my every word. Normally I would steer clear of girls like her. She was too timid.

"Hilary! There you are, I have been looking all over for you."

We both looked up as Lisa Tachibana hastily approached us, the long red dress swishing about her feet. Mother and daughter resembled each other right down to the tiny details, and I regarded her with a slow, charming smile, eyes glittering.

"And you are?" She wondered, as the slightest hint of pale pink crept up her cheeks.

"Tyson Granger", I pleasantly responded, shaking her hand.

"Lisa, Lisa Hiwatari".

"Tyson just moved into the old beach house", Hilary quickly said, sending me a sidelong glance.

She was fidgeting shyly next to me, eyes lowered. Poor thing.

"I am Hilary´s mother", she continued, sending Hilary a reprimanding look for not introducing her.

"Pleasure to make your acquaintance Mrs. Hiwatari", I purred.

"What a wonderful surprise to see you here!" She exclaimed.

Her voice was high and shrilly, wailing, and I wondered how a man like Voltaire Hiwatari could live with her. At least Hilary was not so loud, and a bit more accommodating.

"We are practically neighbours".

There was a brief pause in which I wondered what to say next, when Mrs. Hiwatari suddenly turned around, waving at someone I couldn´t see. Once again she struck me as frantic, almost desperate. Perhaps life with one of the world´s richest men was not as easy as one might think. Soon I would know everything that went on behind closed doors, and part of me hoped for something juicy, even if was at her expense. And that was when I spotted him, turning to send Lisa Tachibana a flinty stare, before approaching. Cool mahogany eyes, steel grey hair. Up close he was exactly like I remembered, but different all the same.

"Honey! This our new neighbour, Tyson Granger", she said, smiling up at him as he reached her.

Her smile was forced, just like his. I was the only one who looked genuinely happy to see him; Voltaire Hiwatari. He gave me a quick once over, nodding his head in approval at Hilary. He looked older in real life. A bit more wrinkled here and there, more silver in his hair, his shoulders a tad slighter than they appeared in print and on the screen. He was getting old, but in his eyes I could still see the snake. To my immediate relief and satisfaction he didn´t recognise me, he merely wrote me off as yet another trust fund kid who had decided that the Hamptons was the new was curiosity there, but not suspicion.

They say vengeance taken will tear the heart and torment the conscience. If there is any truth to it, then I now know that I am on the right path. He would be the last one to fall, but his fall would also be the longest. Just looking at him seemed to strengthen my resolve. He was so close, and yet so far out of reach. I suppose this was a good thing. Had we been alone I might have considered killing him. Instead we shook hands, ironically enough.

"Mr. Hiwatari".

"Granger".

And with that the two of them strolled in the opposite direction, arm in arm. The tension in Lisa´s back was unmistakable. I tilted my head to the side, eyes narrowed. Interesting. When pulling someones life apart there is nothing quite like exploiting already existing tensions. Perception is often reality, and in this case there was only a question of hard evidence. With Kenny´s surveillance tapes this shouldn´t be too difficult to find. I watched his back disappear in the crowd, suddenly feeling preoccupied. With a certain strain I turned to Hilary, smiling.

"Till next time miss Tachibana".

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Clarence Darrow, one of histories greatest lawyers once noted ; "there is no such thing as justice, in our out of court". Perhaps because justice is a flawed concept, which is why, when the system fails us, we must go out and seek our own justice. Much like beauty, justice is in the eye of the beholder. Some see an innocent victim.

Others see evil incarnate, getting exactly what is deserved.

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**Reviews?**


	4. Chapter 3

**Authors note: Yay, I am on a roll here, chapter 3! Not bad ey? Anyways, feedback is greatly appreciated:)**

**REVIEWS? PLEASE?**

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**When the sea turns crimson**

**Chapter 3**

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**-Auburn Correctional facility, New York, 2002-**

The door closed behind us with a resonating bang. I could feel the sound vibrating in my chest, ring uncomfortably in my ears. The other boy was staring at me, eyes narrowed in a combination of contempt and menace. Much like me he was angry, even though I had nothing to do with his predicament. The thing is that when you are all alone, and no one will listen to you, anger is the closest to humanity you get.

"Hello….roomie", he sneered, storm grey eyes narrowed to mere slits.

He was smaller and slighter than me, and he looked unhealthy. Like all the inmates here he was deprived of sun, love, and all other positive enforcements. His hair was long and unkept, and his eyes were flickering uneasily around. He looked unstable, frightened, although he was doing his best to hide it.

"Hn".

I didn´t dignify his greeting with a proper response, he clearly wasn´t worth my time. Instead I looked around, taking in the cell with mixed emotions. It was larger than my previous one, probably because we where sharing, and it had two large windows. I liked that; being able to look outside for once. The stranger chose this moment to launch himself at me, and my broodings were abruptly interrupted. We ended up in a messy heap of arms and legs, sprawled across the floor. He was shouting at the top of his lungs, sweaty hands closing around my neck. Then he lifted one arm, hand balled into a fist.

"Ha! Take that you moron!" He seethed, his fist connecting with my jaw.

It hurt, and with a low growl I threw him off, taking a hold of his left arm and throwing him into the wall. A sharp crunch was heard as his head smashed into it, and he slid to the floor, tears pouring from the corner of his eyes like there was no tomorrow. Suddenly he wasn´t so tough anymore, he just looked lost. He was clutching his arm with the other hand, low sobs causing his shoulders to tremble. I spared him a cool glance, proceeding to sit down on the bed that was the closest to the window. Outside the sun was shining, and if I craned my neck I could see green treetops on the other side of the outer fence. The other boy staggered to his feet, clumsily making his way over to the other bed, a couple of meters away from mine. His nose was bleeding, and he slowly lied down, arms resting behind his head, watching me guardedly.

"I am Tyson, Tyson Granger", he said, brushing one lock of blue-grey hair behind his ear.

I spared him an uninterested look.

"Kai Hiwatari".

He nodded gravely, lifting one hand to wipe the blood away from his nose. It had stopped bleeding, but he still looked a mess, blinking away tears as he continued to stare at me, almost like he was in awe.

"I am sorry I punched you".

A silent moment of understanding passed between us. Two lost souls, finding common ground in their shared misery. Somehow I knew that there was not a bad bone in his body, not really. He was just lost, like me. Perhaps all he wanted was a friend.

"Likewise", I responded.

We lapsed into silence for a while, the both of us staring longingly outside. The glass of the windows were protected by pastel coloured steel bars; no escaping that way. Sometimes I wondered if I would spend the rest of my life like this, confined, living by other peoples rules. The thought frightened me. It had been such a long time, 9-10 years. The idea of ending it for good was something I had often pondered. But then the rage always came at the last moment, ruining it. Death did not frighten me, and when it came I would welcome it, but first I wanted to see them suffer, all of them.

"What are you in for?" Tyson asked me, quickly crawling further away when my gaze hardened.

"If you don´t mind me asking", he hastily added, looking at me with wide eyes.

I turned to face him fully, jaw clenched uncomfortably. What could I say. If I ever wished to get out of here I couldn´t say what I wanted to, what was the truth. Previous sessions had taught me that if I wanted to achieve anything in the future, I would have to tell them what they wanted to hear, at least at the present. Otherwise they would only accuse me of lying again, and so long as I did not make any progress my chances of leaving were slim at best.

"They call me a compulsive liar", I said diplomatically, voice neutral.

Tyson looked at me, one eyebrow quirking upwards. His expression almost made me smile; he looked utterly unimpressed.

"That doesn´t explain why you are here, at a maximum security correctional facility", He said, sympathy evident in his eyes.

I shrugged, sending the security camera a withering look.

"No, I suppose it does not".

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**-June 2012, present time-**

Tragedy and scandal it seems, have unique way of clarifying peoples priorities. The clip I was watching was from December 1994, two days after the death of my parents. It was slightly grainy, the colours uneven at the edges. A man was looking confidently into the camera, face serious. He was wearing a police uniform, and his brown hair was slicked back. His name was Boris Balcov, a high profile FBI officer. He looked professional, responsible, the kind of character people admire for his integrity and undeniable good guy image.

"It is with regret I acknowledge that the downing of flight 997 was indeed founded by Vladimir Hiwatari. This man has tricked us, lured us into believing that he was an innocent. He is not".

He made a dramatic pause, looking sincerely into the camera, back straight in his pin striped suit. When he looked around his unflattering profile was revealed. He had a huge nose. Of course, this was years ago. 15 years and a few nose-jobs later he looked completely different. Yes, a defender of the people indeed.

"Vladimir Hiwatari has been laundering money for a terrorist organisation, he is a terrorist, and the world deserves to know!".

Boris Balcov made a grand gesture with his arms, mouth set in a grim line.

"Vladimir Hiwatari is responsible for the deaths of 90 innocent people…."

I turned it off, running one hand through my hair with a sigh, scowling. In the Tate household nothing appeared to be amiss so far. The only thing that happened to be of any interest was Thomas Tate, who twice a week told Judy that he went golfing. According to the GPS transmitter in his phone he did not go to the golf course. He usually went in the opposite direction, to a place called the South Fork inn, hotel and resort.

I watched him as he gathered up his golfing gear, proceeding to carry everything out to the car. Dr. Tate gave him a quick kiss on one cheek before she went back to her computer. It appeared half hearted. Well, like any predator, I knew where to go when I smelled blood. A slight smile graced my features, this seemed promising. And that is another thing about the Hamptons; secret relationships are everywhere, and so long as they stay secret people rarely make a fuss. It is when such things become public knowledge that the fuse is lit.

With swift, easy movements I grabbed my phone and car keys on my way out. It was time to engage Kenny. The South Fork in was about half an hours drive away, and I caught up with Mr. Tate´s car just as he turned left into the parking lot. He was driving a Bentley, of course, and I slid my Porsche in a few spaces away from him. That was one part of blending in that I didn´t mind, at all. With a certain eagerness I followed him closely in the rear view-mirror. Unsurprisingly he left the golf gear in the car, strolling purposefully towards the entrance.

A woman was waiting for him there, wearing large sunglasses and a conservative, deep blue dress. Her hair was red, and elegantly cut. She looked powerful, in control. Her name was Emily York, one of the younger socialites in the Hamptons. She was 27, and after a dramatic divorce two years ago she had cashed in about two thirds of her actor ex-husband´s fortune. She was a shark, not on my list, but most importantly not someone I would think twice about involving in my game. I smiled a gratifying smile.

Kenny answered on the first ring, as always.

"I need you to check all the security cameras at the South Fork inn, find Thomas Tate, or an Emily York".

"What? Right now?"

"Yes Kenny, right now", I said silkily, watching as the pair disappeared inside, before exiting the car.

"I need their room number"

I heard him sigh in the other end, as he shouted at someone.

"Personal trainer", he excused, and I couldn´t help but chuckle.

"How personal?"

"Damn you Hiwatari!"

I strolled quickly across the parking lot and around the back, a blue duffle slung carelessly over one shoulder. This should be piece of cake. A row of dumpsters were lined up by the delivery entrance, and I waited in silence behind one of them, intently watching as one of the kitchen donkey´s emptied a trash bin. He looked tired, and yawned a few times before turning, using his key to unlock the door and go back inside. I moved like lightening, grabbing the handle moments before the door closed, and slipping soundlessly inside. Once in the kitchen I was set, quickly putting in an ear piece and slipping my phone down in my pocket. I was wearing a waiters uniform and a dark brown wig, no one even batted an eye over my presence.

"Okay, room 212", Kenny chirped.

"They are getting really cosy in there".

I resisted the urge to roll my eyes.

With self assured confidence I grabbed a bottle of Champaign from the cooler, quickly slamming it down into a bucket filled with ice. No one spared me a glance. Special delivery of Champaign at one O´clock was nothing new in the Hamptons. With quick measured movements I grabbed a tray and two glasses, expertly making my way through the line of chefs and servers.

Moments later I was out in the lobby, stepping into the elevator. I pressed the button for the second floor. It was empty, and I fished out a small, oval shaped glass contained from my pocket. The liquid inside was clear and tasteless. Mr. Tate wouldn´t notice a thing. I poured the substance in one of the two glasses, quickly slipping the glass piece back in my pocket. Had they only known what was coming their way. I smiled. The elevator doors opened, and I purposefully walked down the corridor. 208, 210, and there, 2012. I knocked.

"Room service".

Someone cursed inside, and the door was opened a fraction, Mr. Tate´s head peeking outside. His hair was messy and dense with sweat, and what looked like love marks were all over his bare chest.

"What is this? I didn´t order anything", he mumbled grumpily, brows furrowed.

"Champaign, courtesy of the house", I responded.

At that his complexion brightened considerably, and he opened the door a bit further, letting me inside. Emily York was standing by the window, wearing a plush, white bathrobe, matching the one Mr. Tate had on. Her previously elegant hairdo was down, and her lipgloss was smudged. I opened the bottle with a soft pop, steam rising from the opening as I poured bubbling, pale pink liquid into both glasses. It was an excellent vintage. I handed Mr. Tate a glass, giving the other to Emily York as he started drinking. Then I expertly positioned the bottle back in the ice bucket, placing it on the living room table. That they would rent a suite just for sex seemed ludicrous to me, but then again what else was there to expect.

"Enjoy your day sir", I politely said, sliding outside without another word.

All I had to do was wait. I sat down outside, across the street from the entrance of the South Fork inn, basking in the sun and enjoying half a glass of white wine. The South Fork inn was one of those up scale places. Voltaire Hiwatari frequented here from time to time, both for business and pleasure. His fate was something I found myself pondering far too often. Exposing an affair wouldn´t interest him. Lisa Tachibana probably knew all about them anyway.

No, to hurt him I had to strike far closer to home. The question was where exactly that was, and before I knew I had to get to know him. I twirled the hand blown glass between two fingers, watching as the straw coloured liquid swirled back and forth. In reality I was not particularly fond of wine, but I had a cover to keep up. The Tyson Granger who had moved to the Hamptons was upper class. He drank wine, drove expensive cars and frequented at charity events and high profile parties.

The real Tyson Granger was of course radically different. He was an orphan; and his parents had died in an actual car crash, unlike mine. He had come from a working class home, and would undoubtedly had ended up living a totally normal life, had it not been for his escapades as a teen. After setting his latest foster home on fire, aged fourteen, he had ended up in Auburn Correctional facility. As an individual he was frail, impulsive and dangerously short tempered. He was one that was easy to lead, or mislead, depending on the situation.

The faint sound of an ambulance demanded my attention, and I looked up, feigning shocked interest as the doors of the main entrance burst open. A man was being carried outside, and the ambulance skidded to a halt in the middle of the parking lot, the crew immediately approaching the seemingly close to death Mr. Tate. I got up in one fluid motion, leaving the rest of my wine behind as I jogged across the street. Emily York was standing in her bathrobe, staring at the ambulance with an open mouth. Her previously perfect hair and makeup was in a disarray, and she looked completely out of it. I slid up beside her, placing a reassuring hand on her shoulder.

"Is everything okay miss? I am sure your husband will be alright." I said sympathetically, smiling down at her.

She looked up, eyes widening in realization.

"I´m…I…"

And then she ran, looking over her shoulder one last time at the ambulance before disappearing in the crowd. I watched her go with mild interest, before turning, picking up my phone as I headed for the car. How I would have loved to see what would happen when Mr. Tate reached the hospital, and my favourite Dr. Judy Tate showed up. This only needed a few more finishing touches, and then there would be no doubt in Dr. Tate´s mind that her husband was indeed cheating on her. And, with a much younger woman at that. I called Kenny.

"Everything set for tomorrow?" I wondered.

"Yup, Mr. and Mrs. Tate are all going, and Hilary Tatchibana is personally seeing to your invitation as we speak".

"Good", I responded, a slight smile settling on my countenance.

"I wouldn´t miss INCs 100 anniversary for my life".

"I am sure you wouldn´t", Kenny commented dryly.

I hung up.

Mr. Tate´s infidelity did not surprise me. After all, what else is there to expect from someone who will condemn the life of a child, only so that he himself can achieve even more money, even more power. Some say that it is the sum of our choices that define us. In my opinion it is not necessarily our choices that define us, but rather our commitment to them. Mr and Mrs Tate had been given 15 years to think on their sins, and yet they had not done anything to erase them. Their commitment to Voltaire Hiwatari and his conspiracy appeared to be absolute, and this is why there is no mercy involved in my actions towards them. That being said this was just the beginning. Even as hurtful as Mr. Tate´s indiscretions would be this was nowhere near enough to quench my thirst for revenge. It was merely a beginning.

Home at the beach house everything was all sunny and beautiful. An elegant, deep blue satin box was resting on my door mat. INC was written in silvery letters on the front, and I picked it up, weighing it in my hands before unlocking the door. Inside there was an elegantly designed invitation, written with blue letters on expensive, beige paper. "We herby invite you to be part of INCs 100 anniversary". I smiled. Hilary had written her name in pink at the bottom, a small smiley next to it. She had done just what I hoped she would, and I patted the box almost gratefully, placing it on the kitchen table. Little miss Tachibana, who knew she had the capacity to invite her newfound family´s greatest enemy into their home. Had she only known.

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To believe that a life is meant for a single purpose, one must also believe in a common fate. Father to son, brother to sister, mother to child. Blood ties can be as unyielding as they are eternal. But it is our bonds of choice that truly light the road we travel. Love versus hatred. Loyalty against betrayal.

A person's true destiny can only be revealed at the end of his journey, and the story I have to tell is far from over.


	5. Chapter 4

**Authors note: Finally, here we go chapter 4! A few things happen to Mrs Tate, Kai´s next target is indirectly revealed, and the actual Tyson will soon get a more important role.**

**PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE REVIEW!**

**KirayHimawari: Thank you so much for leaving yet another fantastic review! I am delighted that you seem to like this, especially considering that it is quite different from my other work. This plot is distinctly more complicated I am afraid. Please do tell what you think of the second part of this chapter, it is worrying me a bit! Anyways, is Kai sane? Good question, I´d like to think that he is, but I suppose it is a matter of opinion. After year spent in a mental correctional facility, being forced to pretend something other than the truth happened to his parents, who knows. Anyways, thank you so much as always! Take care! :D**

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**When the sea turns crimson**

**Chapter 4**

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**-June 2012 present time-**

I trailed two fingers thoughtfully over the two overlapping figure eights that were carved into the wooden railing outside the beach house. Double infinity. A sardonic half smile graced my lips as I turned, slowly stalking back inside. My tux had returned from the drycleaners that very same morning, and I shrugged into the crisp white shirt with only a hint of resentment. In the Hamptons perception is everything; show up with one hair out of place and they will rip you to pieces.

Tonight´s event was important, for Voltaire Hiwatari in particular. It was a celebration of his success, a way for him to less than subtly show off his wealth and power to everyone interested. He owned the most prestigious property in the area, and everyone was attending. Naturally you did not turn down an invite to the largest event this year. Should someone be stupid enough to do so he could feel certain than no one would invite him anywhere ever again.

Back when I was a child I could not recall having attended any of his lavish parties or celebrations. My parents had evidently been quiet and private people, who preferred the family home over the public sphere. Perhaps this was why Voltaire Hiwatari had chosen to blame them for his wrongdoings. He is a creature obsessed with perfection, and from what little I could remember it was clear that my father never lived up to those expectations.

What happened to flight 997 has gone down in history as one of the most devastating terrorist attacks on American soil. More deaths occurred at 911, however the downing of flight 997 was allegedly the work of someone with an American citizenship. A blow below the belt no doubt, for the all American camaraderie in particular. Granted that Vladimir Hiwatari had died before he could be apprehended, which the majority of the population felt was distinctly unfair, but his status as an American had also been quickly forgotten.

The moment his Russian heritage was revealed, he was no longer an American. He was an enemy. Any notion of his innocence would have been futile at this point. Too many people had died, Voltaire Hiwatari´s deception cut too deep. It is with regret I acknowledge that even if someone had tried to clear my fathers name, the time would never have been right. At the present, this was an entirely different matter.

According to the CIA Vladimir Hiwatari had been laundering money for terrorist organisations. Money who had later been used to found the downing of a commercial airliner. 90 innocent people had died, and Vladimir HIwatari, Voltaire Hiwatari´s son and second in command had been implicated. There was never a question of investigating anyone else. Boris Balcov, head of the investigation had with surprising ferocity zooned in on Vladimir Hiwatari, and had immediately come across incriminating evidence.

This was of course after Vladimir Hiwatari and wife passed away in a tragic car accident. Boris Balcov had retired shortly after finishing his high profile case, suddenly in the possession of almost unimaginable wealth. Now he lived among the rich and powerful, and enjoyed a close bond with Voltaire Hiwatari. He was married to a girl half his age, a frail, doll like little thing named Julia Fernandez. Perhaps she had once been something, but all that was left of her now was a scared, lost little girl.

I left the beach house at 7, leaving my car in the gravelled roundabout before the entrance to the grand, looming building that was Hiwatari manor. My Porsche was left in the care of an attendant, and quickly driven out of sight as I was shown inside. Unsurprisingly everything was as grand in there as the striking façade outside. Wide airy rooms, painted in inviting light colours and expertly furnished. Flower arrangements in INCs royal blue colour were everywhere, and waitresses in short skirts were tripping about in high heels, offering Champaign and small, neat dishes. People were everywhere, chatting and gossiping, admiring Mr. Hiwatari´s outstanding accomplishments and of course his impressive home. I found Kenny by the staircase leading to the second floor, looking his usual smug and conspiratory self.

"Mr. Granger, you look dashing tonight", He exclaimed, grinning.

I resisted the urge to roll my eyes at him, annoyed. He had positioned himself in the blind spot of all the cameras, both to alert me to were it was located, and of course so that we could speak freely.

"News?" I prompted, voice cool.

He shook his head, looking around, awkwardly sipping his Champaign.

"Mr and Mrs Tate are present, Emily York arrived right before you. Boris Balcov and wife is here of course", he trailed off, avoiding my gaze.

I stared at him, eyes suddenly narrowed. Like I said, when a predator smells blood he usually acts.

"Kenny…"

I glared, and he took a few hasty steps away from me, looking around wildly.

"Okay, this was not my fault", He defended, both arms raised in a gesture of peace.

I just stared at him, eyes narrowing in my infamous death glare. What the fuck was his problem?

"Erm…..Kai Hiwatari is on his way here, this very moment", He said in a small voice, looking rather guilty.

"I told you to keep an eye on him", I said coldly.

He did not answer, just looked down on his feet.

"I ran into some problems while trying to locate him, I just got the call".

I paused, looking out into the crowd as I contemplated my options. This was merely a minor complication. So long as I could keep him away from Voltaire Hiwatari everything should be in order. The real Tyson Granger was an emotional wreck. He could not face Voltaire Hiwatari alone, pretending to be his long lost grandson. Furthermore the time was not right. My plans were far reaching, and Tyson´s involvement was not a good thing at this point, if ever. I cursed under my breath, taking Kenny by surprise with a Russian outburst.

"Keep him away from here", I said shortly, voice clipped.

Kenny nodded and we parted ways, he for the door, while I found my most charming smile, entering the crowd as if I had been born there. Time to turn up the heat. Hilary was easy enough to locate, and looked good in a red, knee length creation, small diamonds dangling from her ears. I sent her a dazzling smile, which she returned, a deep blush creeping up her cheeks. Her hair was up in a neat looking bun, and she was wearing heels encrusted in diamonds. It appeared that Voltaire Hiwatari knew how to spoil his new stepdaughter. How very convenient for her I reflected, wry amusement evident in my eyes as I approached her.

"Hilary, you look fantastic", I said, kissing her on the cheek in greeting.

She beamed at that, barely able to contain her excitement.

"You came", she exclaimed, grinning happily up at me when I offered her my arm.

"Of course, thank you for the invitation".

She was all smiles and giggles as we strolled through the crowd, side by side. A few threw me curious glances, the women in particular, but otherwise no one seemed overly surprised, merely curious. I was the knew kid, but I had the money to buy a property close to Mr. Hiwatari, and I was invited to his party. In other words, I belonged.

"Your mother has good taste", I complimented, eying our surroundings with fake amazement.

"I´ll tell her you said that. Even if it is her furniture designer who is responsible she will be beside herself with joy", Hilary responded dryly, taking me by surprise.

Perhaps there was a tad more to her than just the shy, naïve little girl I had seen on first glance. The notion both interested and annoyed me.

"I suppose mothers tend to act that way, at least in the Hamptons", I responded conversationally, eyes still scanning the room.

To our left I could see Mr. Dickinson´s balding head, surrounded by women that were both too young and far over his league. And finally, up front, Mr and Mrs Tate, and opposite them, a mere three meters away from Mr Tate, Emily York. And, my luck was about to reach new heights. A woman like Emily York, superior in all aspects of her life, confident and self assured in her demeanour. It was evident that she would never look twice at Hilary, a shy insecure thing who was single and without status, apart from being Mr. Hiwatari´s stepdaughter. Now on the other hand, Hilary seemed to have decided that the time had come to show Emily that she also had the ability to attract male attention. The possibilities this represented were too great to turn down.

"Tyson, there is someone I´d like you too meet", Hilary said, smiling sweetly.

Her small, white teeth were glistening in the dim lighting, and the pure glee evident in her eyes was unmistakable. She tapped Emily York on the shoulder, eyes glittering.

"Emily, this is Tyson Granger".

Emily turned.

"Tyson, meet my dear friend Emily York".

I smiled, Emily went from her arrogant, in control self to a quivering mess in the course of a second. From the corner of my eye I could see Mr and Mrs Tate looking at us curiously, stepping closer to overhear. I politely stepped aside to include them in the conversation.

"I saw you at the South Fork inn yesterday", I pleasantly said, turning and pretending to recognize Mr. Tate.

"This must be your husband, it is a relief to see that he is well".

Judy Tate looked at me, her mouth open, before she closed it, scarlet lips forming a tight, strained smile as she looked over at Mr. Tate. Hilary looked confused, and I mirrored her expression, having perfected my innocent, charming facade a log time ago.

"Did I say something wrong? I did not mean to offend you", I said to Emily, taking in her ashen face with fake concern.

"No, actually you did not offend anyone", Judy said, eyes boring into Emily York.

"Thomas, lets go and get something to drink".

Her voice left no room for negotiation, and her knuckles were whitening were she gripped tightly onto his tux. I watched them disappear in the crowd, she obviously seething and he stone faced, eyes glinting with increasing worry. Emily hurriedly left, and I looked at Hilary, raising both eyebrows in puzzlement. Of course, Mrs. Judy Tate would never ever cause a scene, especially not at Mr. Hiwatari´s much coveted party. What went on behind closed doors on the other hand, was an entirely different matter. A gratifying smile graced my lips as I turned away from Hilary under the pretence of getting her another drink. Soon Judy Tate´s life would crumble around her, until there was nothing left of what she had spent all these years building. Her husband was only the beginning.

"I think I saw something I shouldn´t", I said apologetically to Hilary, handing her another glass. White wine this time.

She just shook her head, and I inwardly laughed as I saw her inner devil dance in her eyes.

"People like them, like Emily York and Mr. and Mrs. Tate, sooner or later their secrets have to catch up with them".

She didn´t sound like she was sorry at all, and neither was I.

.

.

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**-Auburn Correctional facility, New York, 2005-**

I leaned against the hood of the shiny, red convertible, patiently waiting. The parking lot was mostly empty, apart from my Ferrari and a couple of older, scrawnier family vehicles. The large, hateful building was looming overhead, and I studied the electric fences and guard towers with reserved recognition. It was a relief being on the outside this time, rather than the other way around. It still felt as I had left only yesterday, even if two years had passed. My ears picked up the unmistakable sound of rusty hinges, and I looked up just as the last gate was opened.

A boy about my age stepped through, looking lost and out of place. He was a bit thinner than I could remember, his hair shorter but messier. I eyed him thoughtfully as he looked around, before his eyes found me, and his serious expression gave way for a bright smile. He strolled purposefully in my direction, still looking slouched and unkept, but most definitely happier. He was wearing a pair of discolored sweats and an oversized t-shirt, clutching a navy sweater in one arm and a duffle in the other.

"Kai! Man, you came!"

"Of course", I said, smiling.

He gave me a hug, which I accepted despite my dislike of physical contact, and then he stepped back, looking almost abashed.

"Congratulations Tyson", I said seriously, which he nodded at.

"I thought they would never let me go", I slowly said, shaking his head and clutching my arm till the point of it becoming painful.

I gently pried his fingers open, and he blushed, whistling softly as he got a better look at the car.

"Wow, nice ride".

"Thanks", I allowed.

He got in on the passenger side, and I started the engine with a roar, leaving that horrendous place behind for what I hoped would be a very long time. Someday I might have to return here, but that would not be as an inmate. Hopefully my purpose then would be something much more sinister. We drove in silence, and I parked outside a local diner, intent on getting him in a talking mood. I ordered an omelet, and after assuring Tyson that I was paying, and that he could order anything he desired he ordered half the menu.

"I didn´t think you´d show", he said after a while, in between mouthfuls of egg and bacon.

I had almost forgotten his disgusting eating habits during the course of the last two years, but pointedly ignored the minor irritation this caused. There was a larger picture to consider, as always.

"I said I would", I said, taking a sip of coke as he watched me.

"Still, you know how it goes. People say things all the time, but they rarely go through with it".

He swallowed loudly, before grinning.

"You are the best Kai, you know that right? This really means a lot to me".

I smiled back, almost sincere this time. Despite what I would like to think he had touched me in some way. Part of me felt like looking out for him, even if that meant exploiting a few of his more naïve characteristics.

"Anytime Tyson", I said.

"So, looks like you are doing well", he said, clearly thinking of the car.

"Life is good", I agreed.

He finished his scrambled eggs and moved onto a portion of barbecued spareribs. Even while at the correctional facility I could recall him having an unusually good appetite. In my opinion this was quite a feat, considering that the food there was an unidentifiable mush most of the time. Another great thing by finally being set free I reflected, reverting my attention back to Tyson.

"Tyson", I addressed him, my tone of voice alerting him to my suddenly serious intent.

"I was hoping I could ask some advice of you".

He looked up, immediately smiling.

"Hey, of course Kai! You know I´d do anything for you!"

I smiled carefully at him, pondering how exactly to introduce my proposal.

"You know how I once told you about what happened to my parents", I paused, and he nodded.

"Well, I have decided to clear their name".

"That…that is a quite a goal, I mean, after all that happened", he looked completely star struck.

"Yes", I agreed, looking intently at him.

"I have run into a problem", I slowly continued, having caught his full attention now.

"They, those who are responsible, they can´t recognize me for who I am, otherwise it will be impossible to expose them. I am unsure on how to proceed".

I let the words hang in the air for a while, waiting to see what he would make of it. To his credit he too, saw the solution, only he thought it was his own brilliant idea. With that a look of grim determination settled on his features, and he leaned forward, both elbows resting on the table.

"We swap Kai, it is a great idea!" He said in a low voice.

I sent him a dubious look.

"Tyson, I can´t ask something like that of you….", I trailed off.

"You ain´t asking, look I am offering. There is nothing left for me as Tyson Granger anyway. We both need a fresh start, hell! This is a great solution".

"If you are sure", I said.

"Of course I am! If this can help you then I´ll be damned if I don´t go through with it!"

We agreed on the last few details while he finished his meal, his hunger finally seeming to evaporate as he dug into his last dessert; a piece of warm apple pie with caramel sauce and ice cream. Changing pictures in passports and on credit cards were a simple matter, and I assured him that I could have it fixed within the week. And then, as a parting gift so to speak, I wrote him a check. Half a million dollars. It should keep him going for a while, or as I told him, support a fresh start.

"God luck Kai", he said seriously, giving me a hug and then a jovial backslap.

"Goodbye Tyson".

I watched him disappear outside, before getting up myself, turning to leave. I did not look back.

.

.

Just as there are two sides to every story, there are two sides to every person. One that we reveal to the world and another we keep hidden inside. A duality governed by the balance of light and darkness. Within each of us is the capacity for both good and evil,

but it is those of us who are able to blur the moral dividing line that hold the true power.


	6. Chapter 5

**Authors note: Yay, chapter 5 :D I am quite pleased with this myself, so I hope you´ll like it as well!**

**PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE REVIEW! **

**AngelYao: Thank you so much for leaving a review! Firstly I wish to express my relief that you find this story exiting, and I too love "dark Kai". I find this particular fic challenging because I am balancing a thin line, I am still unsure wheater or not this Kai is actually in-character, so please let me know if you think I stray too far. Anyways, thanks again and I hope you´ll enjoy this new chapter! :D:D:D**

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**When the sea turns crimson**

**Chapter 5**

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**-All Saints Episcopal ****Church, Pasadena California, 2005-**

When fortune smiles upon something as violent and ugly as revenge, it seems proof like no other, that not only does God exist, you're doing his will.

It was with this in mind that I approached the expertly maintained stone building in Pasadena, California, one sunny Thursday afternoon. I have never been religious; quite frankly I despise anything that tries to even remotely control my actions or way of life. Then again I can´t exactly claim to be a model citizen. The path of Christianity would be on accord with all that which I wished to achieve. And, furthermore a childhood spent behind bars because of Voltaire Hiwatari´s deceit had not exactly inspired any great faith in humanity as a whole as far as I was concerned.

Part of me was irritated over the fact that we had to meet here, in a church no less, but as with all other things precautions were necessary.

Like most traditional churches this one was also quite beautiful. From the outside it looked relatively modest; built from stone and with a few large windows and of course the looming tower. Otherwise it appeared quite plain, until I silently pushed the heavy oak doors open and slipped inside. It was wide and airy, with a high ceiling, and although the decorations were sparse at best the simplicity appealed to me somehow. Perhaps it could have been worse. Although I would have preferred meeting at a bar or café, I would admit that this was at least relatively hidden from the public eye, which was a good thing, at least for the moment.

The church was empty, apart from a slight figure sitting with his head bent in prayer on the second row. I strolled carelessly down in his direction, footsteps echoing as I went, before I silently slid in beside him.

"I would never have taken you for a Christian", he said after a while, sending me a sidelong glance.

"You were the one who insisted we meet in a church", I pointed out, immediately taking a dislike to his cheerful tone.

He shrugged, smiling slightly. His appearance never ceased to surprise me; for a computer geek I suppose Kenneth Denham looked the part, but still, he had this air about him that tended to get my attention. He was short and slight, with messy reddish hair and large Harry Potter glasses. From my perspective he didn´t appear to be a threat at first glance, only when he revealed his computer skills did it become apparent that he was indeed a force to be reckoned with. This was our second meeting, and although I was suspicious by nature I felt as though I could at least count on him. Just like me he had an evil eye to Voltaire Hiwatari, and that alone was more than enough to result in the two of us finding common ground.

"News?" I prompted, impatient as always.

"I guess you could say that", came the cryptic response.

With some difficulty he lifted a wooden box from the floor, handing it to me. I sent him a dubious look, before effortlessly taking it from him with one arm. The thing looked old, and the once polished wooden surface was full of marks and scratches. Part of me was startled when I spotted the two overlapping figure eights carved into the top, and with a sense of almost unfathomable loss I carefully touched it. Double infinity, our sign. The Hiwatari sign. I inhaled shakily, and was almost surprised by my own lack of hesitation when I opened the lid.

The first item was a photo, taken on my forth birthday. I could not recall who had taken it, nor where, but I suppose it didn´t matter. My mother was clutching me to her chest, smiling and laughing, her chestnut curls bouncing just beneath her shoulders. She looked radiant. My father was standing next to her, holding her hand and smiling down at me, adoration evident in his features.

It represented all that which I had lost, and furthermore all that which I could have had, had it not been for Voltaire Hiwatari. With a certain restraint I put it inside again, proceeding to quickly rifle through the rest of the box´s contents. A few articles, videotapes, more photos. One in particular caught my eye, and I picked it up, unable to hide the scowl. They were all there, Voltaire Hiwatari, Boris Balcov, Mr. Dickonson, Judy Tate.

"This is also yours, hidden in a deposit box it was not released before today, your 16th birthday", Kenny said.

He sounded hesitant, and I sent him a withering look. He had read it, of course he had, that little bastard.

"Sorry", he mumbled sheepishly.

I ignored him, opening the envelope with unsteady fingers.

.

_Dear Kai,_

_If you ever read this then I will be either dead or imprisoned._

_Innocence never found its way back to me in the end. A jury of my peers found me guilty, but the public and many others convicted me way before my trial even started. The evidence Voltaire Hiwatari and his accomplices loaded against me was enough to submerge a whale. I can only take pity on those who do not fear the repercussions of their corruption. Karma is not a myth Kai… what goes around, will come back around._

_My emotions clouded my judgment, and what I perceived to be true was in fact false. I lost sight of what was important, Kai. Family should always come first, and I should've protected you. I'm so sorry! I was blindsided by my own father´ s deception. My world was turned completely upside down because of his lies and I lost everything that mattered… so much more than you'll ever know, Kai. _

_From the moment of my arrest, I sat stupid and trusting, believing in a system rigged against me by the people I knew as friends in a life I no longer remember. The closer I get to the truth, the louder the whispered voices around me, plotting my execution, choosing the time. I know now that I'm trapped in a race between fate and freedom. Whichever wins out I am afraid I have already lost. _

_With this letter and the contents of this box I wish to give you a chance to discover the truth about what happened to flight 997. I realize that you have probably heard quite a few awful things about me, about what I supposedly did. This is why I beg you, as your father, to at least consider what is the actual truth, to look thoroughly and with a critical eye at the contents of this box. They will prove my innocence. _

_I have long since forgiven those responsible for what they did. It is my belief that the best revenge is forgiveness, so that the guilty might actually come to realize that they have done something wrong. I hope with time, that you will also be able to forgive me for leaving you, and that you will come to realize that there is still good in your grandfather. _

_If not, then I want you to contact an old friend of mine. His name is Kinomiya Ryu. He will help you. _

_Vladimir Hiwatari, your adoring father._

_._

I read the last cryptic sentence once more, stomach churning. Kinomiya Ryu. I was already going down a dark path, and unlike my father I was not so sure if I would be willing to forgive what they had done. Suddenly the contents of the box made sense, and I neatly folded the letter back in the envelope, placing it inside. Kenny looked at me, unsure it seemed.

"What do you make of it?" He wondered, eyes wide.

I gazed long and hard at the two overlapping figure eights, mind swirling. What did I make of it? …I had to find this Kinomiya Ryu.

"He has left me a roadmap for revenge", I slowly said.

"And I plan to follow it".

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**-June 2012, present time-**

I surveyed the room with mixed emotions, forcing myself to keep a polite, correct front. Hillary was babbling about some English author she had just read, and I gave the customary smile and asked questions or came with random observations whenever appropriate. She seemed delighted, and I noted with some irritation that she was becoming very friendly with me.

Of course, this was all part of my far reaching scheme, but that did not keep me from finding her incredibly annoying from time to time. We were strolling casually next to each other on the outskirts of the party, and she was clinging to my arm like there was no tomorrow, smiling and giggling all over the place. Of course she had no idea what we were really doing; stalking Max Tate. Poor little Miss Tachibana, forever ignorant of the greater order of things.

Mr. and Mrs. Tate were nowhere in sight, and inwardly I was delighted, although part of me had hoped for a more spectacular confrontation. However, before satisfaction could be mine, first things first. Judy Tates marriage was crumbling, next would be her relationship with her son. He seemed to be a decent guy, granted that he was a naive, spoiled brat, but coming from me that was almost a compliment. Currently he was in deep conversation with Mr. Dickinson, and I edged closer under the pretence of getting Hillary another drink. Max immediately lit up at the sight of her, turning around to greet us. Predictable as always I reflected drily, supressing a smirk.

"Hillary!" He exclaimed.

"You look great, how are you?"

Hillary smiled shyly at him, self-consciously brushing a stray lock of hair behind one ear.

"I am great Max, thank you. What about you, how is Harvard?"

He visibly paled at that, but quickly got his act together, smiling bleakly.

"I…good, its good", I said diplomatically.

Hillary smiled at him, clearly unsuspecting.

"Well, Max, Mr. D, This is Tyson, he just moved into the old beach house", she introduced me, smile widening.

We politely shook hands, and I regarded Mr. Dickinson shrewdly, all the while masking my real intensions. The aging judge smiled at me, and proceeded to express his delight that someone new and "exiting", as he so nicely put it, had finally moved into the beach house.

"That thing has been standing empty for years, I am really looking forward to getting to know you better Mr. Granger".

This time I smirked.

"The pleasure is all mine Mr. D".

He smiled once more before excusing himself, subtly touching Max´s arm as he left. Interesting. Max didn´t seemed particularly bothered, apart from the slightest twitch of one eyebrow. He was fidgeting, and suddenly he seemed out of place, even though he was wearing a tailored suit and had been born into this crowd. A small, almost non-existent part of me felt sorry for him, but it lasted only a moment.

He was Judy Tate´s son, and whatever compassion this encounter had sparked was immediately out shadowed by this simple yet crucial fact. It was a shame really; had this been a different time and place we might even have become friends. Then again I had a goal, and although Max would play his part in me reaching said goal, there was no doubt in my mind that he was worth sacrificing.

"So, Tyson, what do you do?" He wondered, smiling pleasantly.

"I own a shipping company", I responded truthfully.

It was part of my inheritance of course, but either way it served as the perfect backstory for my new identity. Perhaps Vladimir Hiwatari had always suspected that his father would one day betray him, I don´t know. For whatever reason he had decided to keep the existence of several prospering businesses from him, for which I now was very thankful. It made things a whole lot easier. We lapsed into a conversation regarding his school and plans for the future, which he didn´t seem overly enthusiastic about. Predictably enough Hillary tired of it and stalked off to fetch herself another drink, while I put on a mask of understanding assertiveness.

"You know, I am not really sure if this is what I wanna do", he said after a while, shaking his head almost remorsefully.

"Really, any particular reason?" I innocently wondered, raising both eyebrows questioningly.

He shrugged, both hands in the pockets of his pressed trousers.

"I don´t know, I must sound crazy to you I suppose, but I have always wanted to become a chef. You see, I am not really a book person, and I don´t think I have a talent for business either….", he trailed off, briefly closing his eyes.

I could almost feel his inner turmoil over the decision, and furthermore that he had confessed this to me, a complete stranger. Then again I can be very charming, especially if there is plenty to gain. Max seemed like a good kid, a bit naïve, but all in all there was not a bad bone in his body. He reminded me a bit about the real Tyson actually, although such a comparison is hardly a compliment.

"I think you should pursue your dream", I slowly said, eying him with what I hoped appeared as sincerity.

"If you want to succeed in something you should choose what is your passion. After all you will most likely be stuck with it for sometime".

I smiled carefully at him, and he nodded, clearly considering my words and taking them to heart. Good, very good. Just wait and see Dr. Tate, there won´t be anymore Harvard for your son. There goes your perfect little facade.

"That is actually pretty good advice", Max said, nodding again.

I excused myself moments later, noting that he disappeared in the same direction Mr. Dickinson had gone. Interesting; I reminded myself to have Kenny go through the security footage later. Something was going on between the two of them, and I needed more ammunition. Naturally I had suspected for quite sometime that Mr. D had an unhealthy relationship to sex, but so far I had been unable to come up with any hard evidence. This seemed like a possible opportunity, and a grand one at that. If Max was somehow involved I could take two people down with one strike. All I needed was a confession, or even better, a sex tape. It would be scandalous, which was exactly what I needed, and furthermore; what they deserved.

I was just about to go and search for Hillary when something caught my eye, and I abruptly turned around. A scruffy looking 20 year old had just entered, and I recognized him immediately. It was the real Tyson Granger, and I felt my blood run cold. Fuck him! What was he doing here? And why the hell hadn´t Kenny stopped him from entering. He looked curiously around, absently brushing a hand through greasy, unkept locks.

I resisted a sudden urge to march over there and punch in his face, as he once again looked around. He had undoubtedly snuck in undetected; there was no way anyone would have let him in otherwise, and I quickly scanned the room. No one seemed to have registered his presence apart from me, much due to the fact that he stood in the shadow of the staircase leading to the second floor.

I strolled over without giving him another look, feeling his gaze on me as I passed him on my way to the staircase. Predictably enough he followed, and I stopped in the camera blind spot, regarding him coolly. Bad idea Tyson, really bad idea!

"What are you doing here?" I asked him icily.

"I…I…I´m..I wanted to see you", he stuttered, looking around uneasily.

I could tell that my tone had hurt him, and intent on containing the situation my gaze softened fractionally.

"It is good to see you Tyson, but this is not the best time", I said tolerantly.

He really didn´t look to good, and he was reeking. Perhaps he had spent the night in a dumpster or something. I couldn´t tell, but I had hoped that half a million dollars would be sufficient to keep him occupied for a while. Apparently I had been wrong in that assumption. He was wearing dirty jeans and an ill-fitting sweater, and he looked hollow eyed and scruffy.

"I….you know I thought that maybe you could help, things have been….difficult", he trailed off, looking at me.

"We´ll work something out", I assured him, once again looking around for potential witnesses.

I had to get him out of here without being seen, and with Voltaire Hiwatari´s obsession with security cameras this would prove difficult.

"How did you get in?" I asked him, more out of curiosity than anything else.

This time he smiled, obviously proud of himself. The notion irked me, but I ignored it for the time being. Perhaps I could punch him later.

"One of the windows were open", he said, grinning.

Well, at least then they might think he was a burglar or something. Either way I couldn´t be associated with him without blowing my cover, not so long as he looked like he had just climbed out of a garbage disposal unit. I did the only thing I could think of; I called Kenny.

"Cut the electricity", I said shortly, voice clipped.

There was a brief silence and then;

"But….why….?"

"Cut the electricity, Tyson will meet you outside by the gate. Bring him to the beach house…..", I paused momentarily.

"And stay there until I return, the both of you".

"Yes, sir", he chirped.

We waited in silence. Tyson was shuffling his feet around, and I sent him a venomous glare. He stopped. It took Kenny precisely 2 minutes to orchestrate a power malfunction, and the moment the lights went out I grabbed Tyson by the arm, dragging him outside. The ladies were shouting in surprise, and security was suddenly everywhere, assuring people that it was just a minor electricity problem, nothing to worry about.

We marched through a series of rooms, staying in the shadows along the wall, and I didn´t let go of him before we reached the gardens, were Kenny was waiting. One look at my clenched jaw and blazing eyes told him to stay the fuck out of my way, and the two of them ran off within seconds.

I was left staring into space for a while, eyes absently wandering over the dark, foaming ocean that stretched out beneath the Hiwatari manor. It looked dark and ominous, like a one way mirror. I could see the beach house further down the slope. Kenny and Tyson should be there in about ten minutes. Even in the dark it wasn´t a particularly long walk.

"Mr. Granger, what a surprise".

The voice caught me off guard, and I turned around, expertly masking my real feelings. Voltaire Hiwatari was standing a few feet away, cool, mahogany eyes studying me with mild interest.

"Mr. Hiwatari, congratulations on a very successful event", I politely responded.

Inside the lights were on again, and people were once again chatting and walking about. We shook hands, and I tensed momentarily when he didn´t let go, but instead turned my hand to look at the underside of my wrist. Waves of unease flowed through me at the touch, and it took most of my self control not to pull back. Our eyes locked, and although I was a master at masking my true self his look caused a surprising amount of ….well, fear. He trailed his thumb over the tattoo of two overlapping figure eights, looking thoughtful.

"Double infinity", he slowly said, eyes curios.

He let go of my hand, and I took a step back, jaw clenched, before I smiled wickedly at him.

"A journey with no end".

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In its purest form, an act of retribution provides symmetry, the rendering of payment for crimes against the innocent. The danger of retaliation lies in furthering the cycle of violence.

Still, it's a risk that must be met when the greater offense is to allow the guilty to go unpunished.

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**Reviews?:)**


	7. Chapter 6

**Authors note: Finally! Hope you´ll like it! Note that I changed the name of Kai´s mentor, it was always meant to be Kinomyia Ryu;)And, LEMON ALERT, so don´t like don´t read. And, this will eventually become Kai/Mariah.**

**PLEASE PLEASE REVIEW! I`ll be forever grateful if you do :D**

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**When the sea turns crimson**

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**Chapter 6**

**-Shikoku Island, Japan 2005-**

Grief is a merciless master. Just when you think you are free, you realize you never stood a chance. Years spent in a correctional facility had taught me that there are wounds that time cannot heal. Sometimes they only get deeper, more painful, the longer you dwell on them. For a while I tried to suppress the past, to forget. To live my life one day at a time, to try and leave Rena and Vladimir Hiwatari and the downing of a commercial airliner in the past. Easier said than done.

When I finally searched out Kinomiya Ryu my fury was already out of control. It was too late to turn back. The slow burning rage had sizzled and grown for years, had turned white hot and was now impossible to quench. For me there was only one path that would bring closure; revenge.

He didn´t look at all as I had expected him too. I suppose that in itself was to be expected. The stereotype is often further from the truth than what we´d like to believe. It merely serves to take away from the familiarity, breeding expectation and prejudice.

Kinomiya Ryu was middle aged, although he somehow looked younger. Despite the grey in his otherwise thick, dark hair his face was smooth and chiselled, like flint or iron. Even though I was already taller than him he had an aura that made me feel small and insignificant in comparison; he had presence. There was something in his eyes, a self assured confidence, a cool assertive air he had about him, that made me alert.

To my untrained eye he looked like a mountain; strong and unwavering, something that couldn´t be moved. In time I have come to realize that the warrior must be like straw on a windy field, flexible. Bending but always rising again, never breaking. Kinomiya Ryu would never break, of that I felt certain, and so neither would I.

"Your father was weak", He said, taking me by surprise.

We were seated opposite each other in a small pavilion, and outside I could hear the soft whoosh of waves. By the sea, we will always live by the sea, my father had once told me. He was a dreamer I had come to realize, an individual run by his emotions and his regard for people. As admirable as that may sound this naivety was what led to his death. I would not repeat his mistake.

"He was not weak, he was…kind", I responded, voice quivering.

"He killed 90 innocent people".

Grey, assessing eyes studied me with mild interest.

"Would you call that kind?"

Muscles coiled and ready I couldn´t hold in the tension any longer, launching myself at him with an enraged snarl. How could he? I knew in the core of my being that my father was innocent. They had framed him, doomed him. Somehow Voltaire Hiwatari had tricked and extorted his way through the system, and as a result my father had to pay the price. Fury surged through me at the thought, a white hot rage so all consuming that I lost sigh of everything else. It was tearing and burning at my insides, ripping me to pieces in its craving for retribution.

The offender moved like lightening, like a snake. One moment he was right there before me, a mere half meter away, and in the next he was off to the side behind me, slamming me to ground in one fluid motion, one arm trapped underneath my body while he had the other in a steady grip. The side of my face connected uncomfortably with the hard floor, and I scowled, the previous rage cooling ever so slightly.

"Your rage is good, keep that, because you will need it in the future. However it is vital that you learn to control it, harness it. Otherwise you will fail".

His voice was even and calm, like this was nothing to him at all. This alone angered me, but like he had told me I pushed it away, saved it for later, for someone more deserving. We sat down again, cross-legged and on the floor. It was a surprisingly comfortable silence, one I could understand. Patience I told myself, patience. His eyes were constantly monitoring me, assessing my every movement. I stared levelly back, determined to figure him out, if such a thing was even possible.

He struck just as I was about to lose interest, trapping me in the same position as last time even though I actually put up a struggle. When I tried to shake him off he merely bent my arm till I howled in pain and humiliation, not letting me stand before I lay completely still. It was a level of physical pain I hadn´t experienced before, and yet it gave an almost odd sensation of satisfaction. Afterwards we retreated to our previously cross-legged position, the customary half-meter of carpeted floor all that was between us.

This time I was more focused, prepared if you will. For almost an hour I sat frozen in a kinetic stillness, all my attention on him, waiting, anticipating his next move. He struck with a sense of speed and precision that still caught me off guard, even though I had been waiting for him to make his move. I tried to move sideways to avoid him but ended up in that uncomfortable position yet again, although it took him three additional seconds to capture my arm.

We settled on the floor again, and I tried to ignore the aching that had already settled in most of my body. He smiled ever so slightly. Clearly he wasn´t fooled.

"Better", he praised, nodding at me.

"You are committed to this?" He wondered, voice questioning.

"More than anything", I responded heatedly, voice strained, on the verge of breaking into a sneer.

He nodded again, pleased.

"As you were warned, revenge is a stony path. Remember, inside the viper´s nest, you must be a viper too".

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**-June 2012, present time-**

Revenge is universal, as primal as the need for love, sex, or the feeding of a searing hunger. Revenge crosses time and culture. It starts unwinnable wars and visits generations of blood feuds on families with unsettled scores. Revenge is as old as humanity. I sometimes wonder what will be left when I one day in the future cross out the last name on my list, if anything at all.

"I can´t believe Mr. Tate actually slept with Emily York", Hillary said for what had to be the thousandth time.

She looked utterly stunned.

"I mean, he is 25 years older than her, and he is a pig!"

What an apt description.

I smirked tolerantly in response, my hands tightening around the steering wheel. Mr and Mrs Tate were already getting publicity as people spread the word about Mr. Tate´s indiscretions, which was good. As for Emily York I didn´t really care. Hillary seemed to get an almost unhealthy amount of delight out of the fact that she was being discredited, but apart from this I hadn´t even spared her a second thought. At the moment I had more pressing matters; among them the real Tyson Granger.

"And poor Max", Hillary gushed.

This time she actually sounded as if she cared. Who knew, perhaps Max Tate would grow up to become exactly like his father; a merciless, self-absorbed bastard. I hoped not, but then again the apple rarely falls far from tree. It was an uncomfortable thought. Partly because it could easily apply to me as well, only in a somewhat different manner.

"Poor Max", I agreed silently, absently staring into the dark ahead.

Very soon Max Tate would come to realize that his parents weren´t who he had always thought they were. Oh no. They were far worse than that.

Heavy rain thundered against the windshield of the Porsche, and strong swipes of icy wind caused the car to wobble slightly as I increased speed. I had been drinking, but only a glass of wine. Nothing that would get me in trouble, although the thought of a stiff whisky seemed incredibly tempting. Hillary giggled next to me, all flushed and tipsy as she fiddled with the buttons on the radio. Part of me felt inclined to tell her to shut the hell up, but of course I didn´t.

After due consideration I had texted Kenny to bring Tyson to his place; I could deal with them in the morning. Seeing as Hillary was coming home with me I couldn´t have Tyson around. With his burglar outfit he would probably scare her shitless, and besides I had a cover to keep up.

Tyson, what to do about him? He was a complication, a major one. His identity currently being that of Kai Hiwatari was a problem. So far no one knew, but the longer he stayed the larger the risk of exposure would become. Should word happen to reach Voltaire Hiwatari Tyson wouldn´t stand a chance. Even if my late grandfather actually believed him to be the real Kai Hiwatari Tyson was too pitiful for him to be interested in. Which ultimately left him with two options. Either he removed him, or he simply ignored him. At this point in time I couldn´t be sure which he would chose, and this worried me. Despite the fact that my quest would undoubtedly result in collateral damage I didn´t want Tyson to die. After all he wasn´t on the list. Surely that had to count for something.

"You look like you are far, far away", Hillary whispered to me, head tilted to the side in drunken contemplation.

I spared her a glance, and she blushed deeply.

"I…In your thoughts I mean, not like…like in distance".

This time I actually smiled. Silly little girl. Part of me actually felt genuinely sorry for her, even if she was vital for my plan. I simply couldn´t afford any long term attachments to her, to anyone. Like Ryu once told me; revenge is a stony path, there is no room for error or second chances. If I had to sacrifice her in order to get closer to Voltaire Hiwatari then so be it. Like I said, she was a silly, little girl. She would get over it, eventually. Besides I wasn´t particularly fond of her either, not in reality. I tried to ignore the image that popped up in my mind; the memory of golden, sun kissed skin, slanted eyes and that hot-pink hair. But no, she wasn´t here. For the time being she would remain in my memory, in a place far, far away.

"I am not very far away Hillary", I said tolerantly, smirking slightly before moving one hand to give her a simple pat on one knee.

"Oh!" She exclaimed, looking at me as though I had just done something scandalous.

I chuckled darkly in response, and she just stared at me, cherry coloured lips forming a small o in surprise. Even though I occasionally found her unbelievably frustrating she was also kind of funny, in an unexpectedly endearing way.

"Mr. Granger", she purred in response.

"How could you!"

I parked the car as close to the beach house as possible, pulling Hillary close as we half-stumbled half-ran up the stairs and along the railing towards the entrance. The sea looked particularly stunning; dark and dramatic and endless. Pitch black waves stood in distinct contrast to the already dark sky, and here and there flecks of bleak moonlight were filtered through the clouds, dancing in the black yet transparent surface.

Down by the beach the water was foaming at the edges, and the smell of salt water burned in my nose. Hillary shouted at me to hurry up, and I quickly unlocked the door, ushering her inside. The wind howled and screamed its fury at me as I turned around one last time, gazing out into the abyss, transfixed.

Inside everything seemed disappointingly calm and silent, the sounds muffled. Hillary opened her mouth to say something, probably to complain, and I kissed her harshly before she had the time to do anything annoying. Her eyes widened as I pushed her mercilessly up against the wall, and then she gave in, hands finding my hair and tugging at it as she melted against my body. She had some kind of cherry lipstick on, it tasted sweet and I playfully bit down on her bottom lip, stopping just before I drew blood. Then I carefully stroked her tongue with mine, our noses touching before I moved further down, jawline, the slope of her neck, the outlines of her collarbone. She groaned, supporting herself on my shoulders as I carefully lifted her off her feet, carrying her into the bedroom.

Outside lightening was flashing and glinting in the sky, and every now and then it lit up the room, giving me an excellent view of her smooth, curvy body as I skilfully peeled her dress off. I felt a certain part of my body stiffen considerably at the sight, and suddenly I couldn´t get out of the clothes fast enough. She struggled with my shirt and ended up tearing out the last few buttons; like I cared. I used my teeth to slide the straps of her bra off her shoulders, kissing and biting as I went, enjoying the feel of her firm body writhing underneath me, her hands digging into my back for support.

I could feel her hot breath on my face, eyes wide with excitement as I deftly removed her shoes and panties, grabbing a hold of one smooth leg to trail kisses down her inner thigh. When I looked at her I saw nothing but a quiet, reserved but ultimately very nice girl. The epitome of naive innocence. Then again perhaps that wasn´t so bad. They say ignorance is bliss, and sometimes I couldn´t help but agree. I suppose that doubt is a natural thing, but in matters of revenge there can´t be any hesitation.

With practised ease I slid my hands down her smooth, silky skin, marvelling at how well our bodies fit together before faking a tender smile when she looked at me. Sure, it is all a game, all a matter of perception. But still, sometimes you are allowed to just go with the flow and enjoy the moment. That was certainly what I was about to do, and no, I didn´t feel too bad about it, not really. Certainly not when she started fiddling with my belt buckle, sliding her hands inside my boxers with a surprising amount of expertise.

I allowed her to push me down on my back, unable to supress a groan when she pulled my underwear down, teasingly breathing on my member before taking it in her mouth. Jeez this felt good! The sight of her naked body bent over me, the feeling of her tongue licking and sucking. Fuck! Who knew innocent little Hillary Tachibana could give such a killer blowjob? I buried my hands in her hair, my grip tightening as her efforts increased. Everything seemed to melt together in one deep, endless ocean of arousal, and it took all my willpower to push her away and onto her back, our positions now reversed.

I slid into her with practised ease, groaning as she tightened around me. Her breath hitched in her throat when trailed kisses down between her breasts, stroking and touching as I finally started moving. I had never expected sex with her to be this great, but it was. She was exquisite, slim but curvy at the same time, and with firm, beautiful breasts that matched the rest of her body perfectly.

"Ahhhh….Tyson….don´t stop", she moaned, her voice high pitched and oddly pornographic.

It turned me on.

Everything would have been perfect had she not called me Tyson, but I ignored this simple fact, concentrating on the feel of her body pressing against mine as I buried myself in her.

There was something distinctly pleasing about the way she looked at me, about how she threw her head back an moaned whenever I hit that particular spot. We found a steady pace, her legs wrapped snuggly around my hips, while her nails scratched my back in time with each thrust. I didn´t mind pain mixed with pleasure, not at all. Those two are surprisingly closely connected, and she seemed to like it rough. By the time we were done a light sheen of sweat was covering her skin, her breath coming in ragged gasps as I collapsed on top of her.

This time she was too tired to talk, and I rolled off her, supressing a sigh when she curled up against my chest. Then again I couldn´t deny that this felt excellent, even if it didn't mean anything on my part. She smelled nice; all flowers and perfume and shampoo. I buried my face in her neck, inhaling her scent, feeling as though I was drowning in it. She had a few teeth marks on her shoulder, and I gently kissed them, shifting into a more comfortable position as I heard her breath slowing.

Voltaire Hiwatari´s face was hovering in my mind, distinguished and menacing at the same time. He would probably guess where Hillary had gone when she didn´t show for breakfast tomorrow. He and the new Mrs. Hiwatari would talk and be pleased. Finally Hillary had found someone worthy of her new status. Someone rich and handsome and charming.

Just wait and see grandfather, soon I´ll be a part of the family once again, and you will invite me inside with open arms.

.

.

They say grief occurs in five stages. First, there's denial. Followed by anger. Then comes bargaining and depression.

For Most the final stage of grief is acceptance, but for me grief is a life sentence without clemency. I will never accept and I will never forgive.

Not even after the man who killed my parents lies dead at my feet.


End file.
